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The old writer sensed that his death was approaching. He lived in Norway, in a low cabin with book-lined walls in the neighborhood of Lillehammer, beside a mountain slope.

Next to the window, overlooking the valley was a large table bearing paper, magazines, volumes of verse, inkpots, pens, candles, and more books, carelessly stacked.

One evening, just at sunset, the writer left his bed and went to sit at the table. He looked out over the peaceful valley with its lake in the distance, and recalled how he had lived here quietly for many years and thought of how many books he'd written and that soon it would all be over. Suddenly, a gnome jumped onto the table, seated himself opposite the writer, and crossed his legs. The writer greeted him happily.

"Tell me another story," he asked the aged gnome, who was holding his silver watch against his ear. "I can't think of any more, I've become too old."

"I don't know anymore," the gnome said. "You've already written all the stories about this country. You've become rich from them."

"Just tell me one more. My hands are so tired, I can hardly write anymore," sighed the writer. (Nevertheless he placed pencil and notebook within reach.)

"All right then," the gnome said. He changed his position and stared outside. "DO you see that big weeping willow in the distance at the edge of the lake? The ends of its branches always hang in the water. I'll tell you why.

"Long ago, one dark night, mountain trills switched their infant daughter with the daughter of a rich farmer, kidnapping her when everyone was asleep. Next day, the poor parents couldn't understand why their daughter's skin had suddenly become so dark or why her eyes looked like black currants. But deep in the forest the trolls exulted over the blue eyes, blond hair, and soft skin of the stolen child---and they performed a joyful, thumping dance in a circle.

"The troll child grew up to be a dark, wild tomboy and did only naughty and ugly things; she loved no one and no one loved her. One day she disappeared and was never seen again.

"But in the forest, the farmer's daughter became sweeter and lovelier every year despite all the crude and rough things she saw about her. When she was seventeen she was discovered by Olav, a strong farm laborer. (Olav slept below me in the stable of a farmhouse in the valley.) He was bringing in a few low cows from the high mountain meadow for the winter when he saw the farmer's daughter. She was sweeping the ground in front of the troll cave under the watchful eyes of the old mother troll. It was dusk, but Olav thought he had never seen anything so fair ad beautiful. He immediately fell in love. As he attempted to approach, the troll mother pulled the girl inside and locked the door.

"Back in the stable, Olav asked if I would help him, and we set off that same night. Reaching the troll hill, we saw a stream flowing from it. (Water flows through the middle of every troll hill; they use it for drinking.) Using a divining rod, I found the spring on the other side of the hill from which the water flowed. We dug a hole, and when we reached water, Olav put me into a wooden shoe and I floated into the stuffy troll cave.

"I hid myself and the wooden shoe in a dark corner of the cave and waited until the trolls left to perform their nightly crimes in the forest. Before leaving they shut the girl in a side alcove and finally locked the main door behind them. Only the girl and I remained in the somber, stinking lair. As soon as it was safe, I released the girl and said to her: 'You're not a troll girl! Outside there's someone who will suit you much better than a troll.'

"She looked quite astonished ad hesitated, but finally came along with me. Outside she saw the blond giant of a man Olav; at once she fell in love with him, as he with her.

"The three of us ran for home. But we were still deep in the forest, and before we could make out getaway the trolls learned that we had stolen their prize. They caught up with us, beat Olav until he was black and blue, and took the girl back. I couldn't do a thing.

"A week later, we tried again. This time, Olav took along a horse that he had borrowed from the farmer he worked for. For the second time, I drifted along on the underground stream into the trolls' domain. But this time the trolls had left their old mother to stand guard. When the old mother troll turned away from a bowl of porridge she was making, I quickly tossed a good dash of sleeping potion into it. Ten minutes later she was snoring away. (I had signaled the girl not to eat the porridge.)

"Again the three of us raced through the forest for home. It was might quicker this time, on a horse. But in spite of it, the trolls caught up with us, just as we were almost out of the forest. Again, they beat Olav until he was half dead, then took the girl back with them---and the horse, too, of course. There was nothing we could do; no matter how strong Olav was, the trolls were stronger.

"Three weeks later it snowed. This time I managed to get to reindeer to help us. In the trolls' cave I had to wait half the night, because not only was the troll mother on the lookout but the troll father was as well! Eventually I was able to sneak enough sleeping potion into their porridge to put them fast asleep.

"The reindeer transported us quickly on a small sleigh along little-known paths in the direction of the lake. The trolls pursued us, but in the snowstorm we were lucky enough to reach the edge of the lake. I knew where an old fishing boat was moored and we got to it quickly. We cut the sleigh loose, thanked the reindeer, and sent them back to their herd. The lake was still not entirely frozen. Olav and the girl climbed aboard the boat and began rowing; I skied homeward along the banks of the lake. Nothing could happen to me. Trolls have no power over us once they leave their cave. It was almost sunrise. The last snowflakes fell; the sky opened up and, in the east, took on a yellow and red hue.

"When the boat was already a good distance across the lake, the trolls finally reached the dock. The ranted and raved, Olav rowed with big strokes toward the other side, and the trolls couldn't reach them. The trolls didn't have much time left: when the sun shines on them, they turn to stone. Suddenly, the strongest troll seized a gigantic boulder and hurled it at the fleeing pair. The boulder did not hit the boat, but it fell so close to it that the boat capsized. The suction dragged the girl down to the depths of the lake and she drowned. For hours, Olav dived in search of her, but he had no luck. Deeply depressed, he finally swam to the bank on the lake.

"After this, Olav was inconsolable. Every day he went to the edge of the lake and stood in one spot, staring at the water. He never looked at another girl. And when he became so old that he couldn't work any more, he continued to return daily to the same spot. In the end, he stood there the whole day long. Branches grew out of his head and roots from his feet. And then he stood there forever. He is that weeping willow you see out there at the lake's edge. Even now its branches feel about the water in an attempt to find the drowned girl.

The gnome looked around. The old writer had grown still. His snow-white head lay upon his notebook on the table. He was dead. The gnome smiled and went over to him. He closed the writer's eyes and read what was on the paper. The last words were, "And then he stood there forever."

And the gnome pulled the notebook out from under the dead writer's head, carefully loosened the pencil from his stiff fingers, and wrote the remaining sentences of the story.